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“Of Daylight’s Dauphin, Dapple-Dawn-Drawn Falcon”, And Nasturtiums

Small, insignificant, at least in the grand scheme of things, every day something new does appear, like all of those little things and without them there would be no big things.

Earlier, just after dawn breaks and I awake from that long, hot slumber, stumble to the kitchen and set the kettle to boil, when it whistles I let it sit for a few minutes while I go and dump the old grounds in the compost, rinse with the hose, go back inside and scoop out 5-6 tablespoons of whatever java was on sale into my French Press (I like it STRONG), pour the water in, let sit a bit more, and that’s the way I make it.

On these humid days, I save some for later in the day to make an iced coffee and even scoop in some Pistachio ice cream and add a few cubes of ice to chill. Num num.

As I sip away, I scan the headlines, scroll thru my feed on Facebook, pop into The Globe And Mail, maybe the Atlantic, BBC, and CBC, of course, and then it’s time for YouTube, to see whats up in videoland, but it’s lately all the same; a mesh of this and that and crime dramas I’ve seen, political this and that, more blah, blah, blah, as no one knows what the heck is really going on, and it all streams together into a creamy coffee coloured haze of commentary I’ve seen all before.

Tawit-tawoo…bored.

Of course, in the mix is letting the dog out, coffee grounds go out, and she wants in again just as I sit down. Stays in for a bit to cool down in my hyper-fanned-out bachelor pad, just as I’m settling into some lengthy piece or other to read, she wants back out, and like some Roman Catholic Church service, up and down and up and down I go.

I stare at that blank page.

I can feel the words, like this morning, tumbling around inside, incoherent, jumbled, as some new atrocity, horror, injustice, lie, feel-good story, or whatnot catches my eye, and that passion inside me bubbles up, and more words spiral in from wherever they come from, and gone. The page stays blank, some days.

Most mornings, or once the sun rises behind the house in the late afternoon and the shadows descend onto the garden, cooling everything with a mist, including myself, the spray washing my toes, and I drag the hose behind me on the concrete walk.

I watch the garden like one would a child, noticing the subtle shifts a garden makes day by day, because it soothes, and gets me away from that blank page, and blinking cursor.

This morning it was a new Nasturtium flower bloom, a new red one, my favourite.

And, more news, a vid here, a horoscope there, like that friend’s news of the day, wish whoever’s birthday it is a Happy one and today is my sister’s, and for her, I found this – and posted it on her timeline.

So many childhood memories of that show, The Waltons, and it came up in my YouTube recommendations as I’d watched a piece on Gerard Manley Hopkins yesterday, or tried to, but I got bored, but I do love his poems.